ith a charming smile encouraged
her hand, which quickly traced the words she named.

"What next?" asked the younger of the two girls.

"Why, now write what you think, Louise," replied Montalais.

"Are you quite sure I think of anything?"

"You think of somebody, and that amounts to the same thing, or rather
even more."

"Do you think so, Montalais?"

"Louise, Louise, your blue eyes are as deep as the sea I saw at Boulogne
last year! No, no, I mistake--the sea is perfidious: your eyes are as
deep as the azure yonder--look!--over our heads!"

"Well, since you can read so well in my eyes, tell me what I am thinking
about, Montalais."

"In the first place, you don't think, _Monsieur Raoul_; you think, _My
dear Raoul_."

"Oh!--"

"Never blush for such a trifle as that! 'My dear Raoul,' we will
say--'You implore me to write you at Paris, where you are detained by
your attendance on M. le Prince. As you must be very dull there, to seek
for amusement in the remembrance of a _provinciale_--'"

Louise rose up suddenly. "No, Montalais," said she, with a smile; "I
don't think a word of that. Look, this is what I think;" and she seized
the pen boldly, and traced, with a firm hand, the following words:

"I should have been very unhappy if your entreaties to obtain a
remembrance of me had been less warm. Everything here reminds me of our
early days, which so quickly passed away, which so delightfully flew by,
that no others will ever replace the charm of them in my heart."

Montalais, who watched the flying pen, and read, the wrong way upwards,
as fast as her friend wrote, here interrupted by clapping her hands.
"Capital!" cried she; "there is frankness--there is heart--there is
style! Show these Parisians, my dear, that Blois is the city for fine
language!"

"He knows very well that Blois was a Paradise to me," replied the girl.

"That is exactly what you mean to say; and you speak like an angel."

"I will finish, Montalais," and she continued as follows: "You often
think of me, you say, Monsieur Raoul: I thank you; but that does not
surprise me, when I recollect how often our hearts have beaten close to
each other."

"Oh! oh!" said Montalais. "Beware, my lamb! You are scattering your
wool, and there are wolves about."

Louise was about to reply, when the gallop of a horse resounded under
the porch of the castle.

"What is that?" said Montalais, approaching the window. "A handsome
cavalier, by my faith!"

"